


to love is to hurt; and you've yet got some hurting to do

by theholychesse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mentally Ill Character, Might get long might not depends on how motivated i am, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-17 08:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: The portal opens. Loki wants to scream. Wants to bite his lip into bloody nothingness. Wants to run far, far, far away, until all of this seems like a dream, until he dies and chokes on his blood and it is all over.But these are all things he is not allowed to have. And so, he steels himself, and steps through.(Or: Loki fixes the present by fixing the past.)





	1. the beginning

They are on the ship. 

These are Loki’s happiest memories, he thinks, turning on the spot, beholding the world of iron, velvet, and cold that opens up to him. 

Loki’s throat closes up when he sees the tall, brooding figure lounging by the window. Thor sits, his elbow on his knee, his chin on his fist, observing the empty, black beauty of space. Loki spends what feels like a lifetime standing there, jaw loose, eyes wide and white. And then— 

Thor turns. His hair is short. He has but one eye. He is haggard, rough at the edges, hands worn and body slighter than it had been in their youth. But he is smiling. His eyes are warm. 

“Why are you standing there? Has the great Loki finally found the value of silence?” His voice is as deep, booming, and jovial as he remembers. 

Tears want to well up in Loki’s eyes. Loki will not let them. Instead, he straightens, his exhale soft, as he shakes his head, smiling. “I’ve… No idea what you mean. It was a pause, nothing more. I cannot be silenced by anything at all, remember?” Thor makes a small chuckle, and moves over, opening up space in the nook. 

“Come. Let us sit.” 

“And do what? Watch the same sky we’ve been seeing for weeks?” 

“Hush.” Thor scolds, patting the spot. “Come over. I demand it. As your _ King._” Thor’s brows waggle. 

“Why, _ my brother, _ that’s an awfully haughty tone you’re using.” Loki takes the invitation, striding over. “Don’t forget who’s your Crown Prince. And don’t forget how easily my knife can slip through your ribs.” Loki sits. The window is cold. Thor’s legs are terribly warm. 

“Is this your version of self-reflection? Staring into a space so empty that it rivals what lies inside of your head?” His words are all light jests and jabs—Their favourite. During these days, if they were not running around tending to the needs of the people, this is what they did. Teasing and jabbing and jeering and laughing. So much so that, at times, they were trying to make up for the years they had missed. 

“Perhaps. Someone must have the ability to reflect in the house of Odin, musn’t they?” Thor’s sole blue eye is a terrible weight. Loki winces, but covers it up in a shrug. 

“Self-reflection is for the vain and the doubtful.” 

“Aye. You’re all those things, and yet self-reflection escapes you. How is that so?” 

Loki _ bristles, _mock-outrage in each cell. “I’d like you to know, _ brother_, that my vanity is all in the service of the crown, after all _ someone _ must be the pretty one—And if you think I’m capable of of doing something as uncharacteristic as _ doubting _ myself, then you scarcely know me at all, brother.” He lays a hand over his heart, miming great tragedy. 

“Aye. I scarcely do.” Loki looks at Thor, his expression dropping. 

Thor is still smiling. It is less soft and more… _ Sharp._

“After all, I thought I knew you. Knew what you were capable of. Knew what cowardices you were capable of, what crimes. Knew what kind of awful, selfish, needy little thing you were. And yet, you continue to surprise me.” 

Thor’s eye is turning bloodshot. 

“Thor.” Loki pleads. His stomach has dropped. He’s pressing against the wall—Seeking escape, and yet his legs are not capable of doing anything at all and all he can do is sit there and watch.

The window is cold. Thor is cold. 

“Loki.” Thor repeats, mockingly. 

Thor presses forward, invading Loki’s space. He lays a cold hand on Loki’s cheek, and comes close enough that Loki can see the maggot wriggling in Thor’s empty eye socket. 

“I scarcely knew you had it in you to kill me. But, really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, you do tend to destroy all that you love, don’t you?” 

“Is that why you will never die? No matter how hard you try? Maybe if you learn to love yourself, you’ll finally be able to drop _ dead_.” 

Thor’s head explodes into a shower of blood, brains, and a lone blue eye. 

Loki wakes with a jerk. 

He softens his wheezes with hands clamped over his mouth. His frame shakes. He wants to curl up, but he cannot. The cot is small and hard and uncomfortable, and would not allow him to. 

Loki presses his forehead against the thin pillow instead. 

And then he rises. His long, greasy hair tickles his neck. His body aches familar aches. They were no nicer to experience the second time round as the first. 

Nebula is at the door. She is sneering. “Come, _ worm.” _She spits. Loki keeps the melodramatic sigh from falling from his lips, because he knows she would not take kindly to it. 

They come to the Throne Room, where the Other stands, a six fingered hand clasped around the the cold metal of the scepter. 

Loki stares at that sickly blue glow for longer than he should. Nebula growls in his ear. Oh, how he wants to destroy it now. Rip the Mind Stone from the scepter, teleport himself to some distant corner of the universe, and use his own life force to tear the Mind Stone apart, atom by atom. 

But he cannot do this. 

Cannot allow himself to do this. 

The titanic throne is empty. Loki outstreches his hand, a playful smirk at his lips. The Other places the Scepter in his eager hand. 

“You know the price of failure.” It hisses. Loki nods, expression resolute. The Mind Stone tugs at his mind. He lets it. Lets the Other see and feel what it seeks. 

But the Other does not receive Loki's sight and feelings of now; No. He sees and feels what the_ younger _ Loki felt, all those years ago. He drowns the Other in his past memories, in his feelings of visciousness, of murder, of a petty desire to get what is rightfully his. 

The Other smiles. It is all translucent teeth and satisfaction. 

“_Go._” It encourages. Nebula's gaze drills holes through his spine. 

Loki turns around, facing an empty patch of space. For a moment, there is nothing—Until a yawning hole in space-time opens, spreading whispy tendrils over the entire room. It gleams blue. 

Loki steps through. He arrives on his knees, magic and energy and sweat steaming off his skin. He rises to his feet, scepter held tight in his right hand. 

“Sir,_ put down the spear._” 

And Loki does.


	2. oleander

He is placed in… Well. Not a cell, not exactly. But almost. The waiting room for one, perhaps. He is sat at a simple, iron table, the chair hard and unforgiving under him, and one wall is entirely consumed by a window, letting him look into a dark chamber where men and women peer at him, as if unaware he can see them.   
  
Ah. They _ are _ unaware he can see them. How interesting.   
  
Loki clasps his hands, and gently bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. It would be mocking, and would give his new… _ allies _ the idea that he’s, Norns forbid, _ mentally unstable. _ And… Loki is almost sure that if he _ did _ begin to laugh… He wouldn’t be able to stop.   
  
Director Fury had looked so dreadfully young. So had Barton. A mere handful of years can age them so much. Can _ change _ them so much.   
  
Loki looks down at his hands. Well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? For he, himself has… Has changed so much more than them. 

He has grown used to this form. Gotten used to the lack of scars, the lack of aches, even despite his lovely… time in the hands of the Chitauri. Has grown used to the way that this body… Is fitter. Is _ better _, for not having died on Svartalfheim, for not ending up on Sakaar and spending those weeks in the company of the Grandmaster, for not having to go through a world… After Thanos....

The door clicks. Loki’s head shoots up—And he takes in the men who come in with _much_ interest. Barton, younger and smoother and happier, even if he currently is frowning deeply, arms crossed over his chest, bow stark and large on his back. And…   
  
Loki bites on the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral.   
  
A man, near-bald and gentle looking, an unassuming figure despite the sharp suit and the intelligence in his eyes. Phil Coulson. Now brought back to life from the realms of the dead. The first of many, Loki hopes. 

“Loki Odinson?” He asks, sitting in the chair facing Loki, while Barton stands at his shoulder. Loki twitches at the patronym, but keeps on pleasantly smiling. 

“Erik Selvig, I suppose?”  
  
“You’re aware of him?”   
  
“Why yes. My brother… Told me about him. And the other humans he’s met on Midgard.” Coulson settles back in his seat, assessing Loki. 

Loki does not yield to his scrutiny. He has faced worse. 

“... And where is Thor?”  
  
An ocean of grief opens up, threatening to swallow him whole. Loki is quiet for a moment too-long, and when he speaks, he cannot wholly hide his grief. But, considering how it wells up in him, filling him from edge to edge, corner to corner, Loki says he does a rather good job.   
  
“He is dead.”   
  
“... I am sorry for your loss.” Beyond the window, the little men and women have grown still in… Not horror. For they did not Thor well enough to feel so hard for him. But it was… Something. Something. _ Something. Something. Something somethingsomethingsomethingsomething— _

“Thank you.” Loki bites his tongue. “I… I am here, largely because of his passing. Because of _ who _ caused his passing.” 

Beyond the window, the door opens. Director Fury himself strides in, standing amidst the furiously scribbling and babbling agents, expression stony.   
  
“You want our help.” Coulson says. “Why? Thor gave us the impression that your civilization is far more advanced than ours. What can we do that Asgard cannot?” 

“Midgard is the youngest world, yes. But you hold the most promise. The royal family has been… Informed of the many heroes of Midgard. How formidable you are. Asgard, for all it’s age and magnificence, is lacking something your people have in spades. _ Versatility. Difference. _We are of one mind. One ability. All the Aesir can do is smash at things and hope that will solve the issue. And, ordinarily? It works out fine. But with this current enemy…” 

Funnily enough, it is Barton who speaks up now. “Yeah, excuse me, but you don’t seem like much the smashing type.” Coulson barely reacts. Ah. So that is why Barton is here. To… Call out the bullshit, so to say, while Coulson further winds Loki around his finger. 

A sound strategy, for anyone but Loki. He does not call it out.   
  
Loki gave a sardonic smile. “Yes, you’re quite right. I have never been… The smashing type, as you say. And that is why _ I _ am here. The Allfather and Allmother have both agreed it is best if I come as Asgard’s representative. And, I am here.” 

“...I see. And who is this… Enemy of yours?”  
  
Loki smiles a grin that is all white white teeth. “Thanos.”   
  
“... Are we supposed to know who that is?” Barton looks down at Loki, his eyes narrowed. 

“No. I should hope not. He is… The Mad Titan. Last of his kind. He who courts death. His ambition is to eliminate half of all life in the universe, in order to make sure that the fate of life is not the same as his race, who were so gluttonous and greedy that they used up all their resources and starved.”  
  
“That’s not very sound logic. Destroy half of all life, and you destroy half of all resources. You end up at the same place you started, but with the collapse of society thrown in for funsies.” Barton says.   
  
“Well.” Loki attempts a chuckle, as he spreads his hands. “He is called _ The Mad Titan _ for a reason. Logic does not need to be particularly sound when he has the level of power and influence he has.” 

“And you want us to… Help Asgard stop him?” Coulson says.   
  
“Yes. Well, help _ me _ stop him. Unfortunately, Asgard, due to the destruction of the Bifrost, is only able to lend me as its resource. But I assure you, I am more than what it seems.” 

Fury is no longer beyond the window. _Where is he_—   
  
Ah. Here he stomps in, posture and expression and air instantly demanding deference. Despite being of a height with Barton, he is standing taller than all of them.   
  
“You’re lying to us, Odinson.” Is Fury’s welcoming opening line. 

Loki shows the palms of his hands. “I assure you, Director, I am not.” He pauses. He glances away. “Well, a little.” All three men stiffen. Loki leans forward, eyes shining bright in the sickly fluorescent light.   
  
“I am not here just as a simple diplomat.To relay instructions, give commands, and fight when needed. _Nay._" Loki's grin is terrible and large and toothy. "I am here for a simpler purpose, really. I am here to cleave Thano’s ugly head from his shoulders, because he killed my _ brother. _”

A lie. A lie so painful it hurts. Thanos did not kill Thor. Loki did. Loki killed him. Loki murdered Thor, the light of his world, his King and his Brother and—  
  
The Director looks satisfied. 

“SHIELD would be happy to help.” Coulson says, acting as Fury’s spokesman. “We need to hammer out certain details but…” He looks over Loki. Takes in how sallow his looks. The bruises under his eyes. The gauntness of his features. “Let us settle you in first. Would that be alright, Mr. Odinson?”  
  
“Loki.” He blurts. “Call me Loki. We are allies, are we not? No need for formalities.” Coulson stares at him for a long moment, before nodding.   
  
“Loki. Would that be alright?”   
  
“Yes. Very much so.” Loki does not hide the relief from his voice. After… Months with the Chitauri, with the Black Order, all he wants is… A bath. And to sleep. And sleep, and sleep, and sleep and sleep and sleep until he dissolves into foam and is no more.   
  
Perhaps he may have one of those things tonight. 

They lead him out of the almost-cell. Coulson chitchats with him—Giving Loki the illusion of trust, of acceptance. But Barton, a persistent presence behind Loki, gives a very different impression.   
  
Finally, he is led to his cell. It is a very nice cell, he must admit. The bed is large, and soft. There are many cabinets and wardrobes for things and clothes that he does not have. A door leads to a closet, and another to a fairly large, comfortable looking bathroom. Ambient noise plays out of a mounted speaker, and Loki feels the electrical presence of perhaps a dozen secret electronic eyes and ears. 

And, worst of all: The scepter. Mounted in the middle of the room, like… Like a test.   
  
Loki had vainly hoped that SHIELD would whisk it away, and do Norns know what on it. But, he supposes, as a gesture of good faith... They have given it back.   
  
Loki stares. He knows they’ve noticing how disquieted he is.   
  
Eventually, he manages to drag his eyes away. He bows, and says his thanks. They tell him they will ask him to come to a meeting in the morning. They point out a tablet on a table by the bed and tell him that he may order whatever they like.   
  
They stare at him. They are curious. Confused. Distrustful. They will only be happy if they strap Loki to a table, cut him open, and have the chance to view all of him, inside and out, and know, for certain, that he has nothing else to hide.   
  
Loki’s smile is brittle, by now. The day.. The… months.. The.. _ years _ have worn at him. He needs rest _ desperately _ .   
  
Eventually, they leave. Of course, not wholly—For each and every of Loki’s movements and sounds is watched, recorded, studied.   
  
Loki, after looking around, ignoring the scepter even as each cell in his body tells him to _grasp _it, to _kill _with it—Gingerly sits down on the bed. Stares at a blank peice of wall.   
  
Oh, how he wants to sleep. Oh, how he wishes to bathe. To scrub the sin and evil off his skin, and attempt to find the Loki That Was hiding underneath.   
  
Oh, how he wishes this burden was not placed on his shoulders.   
  
Loki bites his lip. His hands twitch. Oh, how he wishes to _ fall apart_, to curl up like a child and _ break— _ But he can’t, he can’t, he is _ watched, _ he must be _ strong _ —   
  
Loki’s head drops onto his hands. 

His fingers find his hairline, and dig _ in_, until his scalp and hair aches and his fingers are numb. 

Loki does something unforgivable. He _ shakes. _ That is all he does. If he’d done anything more, anything more _pathetic, _he’d have thought it'd be better to end himself and be rid of the trouble.   
  
Loki sits, eyes clentched tight, muscles rigid, wounds and broken bones _ screaming _at him—And he shakes, and he shakes, and he shakes. 

Oh, how he misses. How he wants. How he craves. But, as always, Loki Odinson cannot have what he wishes, what he wants. For he is not deserving of it.   
  
Eventually, his hands fall. He slumps, and falls back onto the bed.   
  
He stares up at the ceiling.   
  
His eyes turn to the dark, inconspicuous tablet. Likely heavily monitored, too.   
  
He reaches over, and picks it up. Turns it on via a press of a button. It lights up with a chime, shows him some scenic view of waves, and many little square buttons.   
  
He presses at one of them. Loki blinks at the little page that pops up.   
  
Oh, this is.. So quaint. He feels like he’s playing with a museum piece. 

Loki’s thoughts roar. In his mind’s eye, all he sees is Thor. Sees his smiling, supportive face, that Loki had seen last. Hears his words. "_Do it for me, Loki." _ He hurts. He hurts, oh how he hurts. 

Loki does like the petty mortals of this plane, and buries his feelings and miseries and inadequacies in the sweet bliss of consumerism. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, looking at the format in google docs: tastey  
me, looking how it looks in ao3: ... ; (
> 
> also loki hunny have u learned nothing. your lies WILL bite you in the ass


End file.
